


Ain't We Got Fun

by dear_monday



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Barebacking, Crossdressing, Lingerie, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-15
Updated: 2012-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-05 10:44:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dear_monday/pseuds/dear_monday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard's smile is slow and lazy, reflected in the mirror he's seated in front of as he fixes his hair and smudges kohl around his eyes. "Well, well, well," he says, his voice low and pleased. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" The year is 1927, and Frank Iero never did learn to look before he leaps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't We Got Fun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [synonomy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/synonomy/gifts).



> ILU, PORN BRAIN TWIN. Thanks to all the gorgeous people who read over this for me, helped me to overcome my crippling Englishness ~~and also convinced me to add more porn~~. ♥!

_****_

_**.ten** _  
_October 3rd, 1927_

 

  
  
"Because, Frank Iero," says Gerard, smoothing Frank's hair back with a wan smile, "Boys like you don't go around with boys like me. C'mon, you know that. You knew that right from the start."

Frank opens his mouth to protest, to tell him it isn't true, but it is and the words won't come. "But," he starts. _But you can't. But you make me such a damn sap and I've never been happier. But I think I'm in love with you._ "Don't," he says. "Don't – not yet, Jesus Christ. Give us one more chance. We could still..." he doesn't know. Run away to Europe, just up and leave without telling a soul. Buy a house somewhere in the hills where no one knows them and disappear.  
  
"We could still what, Frank? Go and have tea with your parents? Introduce me as your _friend?_ Make up some line about what I do? Keep it a secret when you marry a nice girl like they always wanted? It's not fair to you, it's not fair to me, and it wouldn't be fair to her." There's no venom or resentment there, just resignation, and Frank can't stand it. He grabs Gerard's hands, some part of him believing that if he holds on, Gerard won't leave.  
  
"I won't get married," he promises wildly. He's not thinking; it doesn't matter what he promises as long as Gerard gives him just another week, he'll do it if he has to. "Not – I couldn't. We don't have to live here, we could go... Jesus, I don't know. Wherever you want. London. We'll go to Paris, like you always wanted. Anywhere."  
  
"Stop," Gerard says, covering Frank's mouth with his hand. "Frank, think. You know we can't, you know why we can't. Maybe things'd be different if you didn't have the money, or if... I don't know. But the longer--" for the first time, Gerard's brittle smile falters and he looks stricken, uncertain, as sick with it as Frank feels, and Frank's heart lurches, but Gerard carries on. "--the longer we keep pretending, the more we're both gonna get hurt. You see that, don't you?"  
  
Frank nods dumbly.  
  
"I'll miss you, doll." Gerard presses a kiss to Frank's cheek, and Frank's too shell-shocked to pull Gerard closer and stop him leaving by force if he has to, too shocked even to bury his face in Gerard's neck one last time and lose himself in the scent of skin and cheap soap and cologne.  
  
Then Gerard is pulling away, tugging his overcoat tighter around him and stepping out into the biting October chill, and then the door is closed and Frank is all alone in a house that's too big for him.  
  
  


_**.nine**  
September 19th, 1927_

  
The fights are so stupid, each and every one sparked by something children would be ashamed to squabble over. Gerard just gets to Frank. He's lodged in Frank's head like a scrap of melody or a fish hook that tugs at him whichever way he moves. He's never been a jealous guy and he's got no reason to be one now, but he feels his blood rising every time Gerard tips a girl a flirtatious smile or ducks his head and bats his eyelashes at a guy.  
  
He tries not to care, but there's just _something_ about Gerard that makes it impossible. Frank will make a nasty comment calculated to cut as deep as possible, then feel the kick of sick satisfaction as Gerard flinches away from him.  
  
The guilt comes later, after Frank has apologized a hundred times and promised to mend his ways and Gerard has fallen back into his arms. Frank will hold him, kiss him, tell him he's never been so balled up over anyone before, and Gerard will let Frank lick his troubles away. He doesn't lie to Gerard. This really is like nothing he's ever felt before, headlong and terrifying all at once. Afterwards, Gerard will cling to him like their time is running out, and Frank will lull him to sleep with papery promises he knows he can't keep.  
  
There's a part of him that knows all too well that they're headed for a crash, but not yet. Not tonight, and that's all that matters.  
  
  


_**.eight**  
September 16th, 1927_

  
Frank pauses, his hand resting on the door of Gerard's dressing room. There are voices coming from inside, Gerard's and another which he doesn't recognize. Clearly, this is a bad time. Frank should leave.  
  
He doesn't. There are perks to coming to see someone unannounced, such as the premium eavesdropping opportunities afforded.  
  
"Tell me you haven't, Gee. Tell me you know better. _Please_." There's a pleading edge to the unfamiliar voice. Frank edges a little closer to the pockmarked door, hardly daring to breathe.  
  
"What? No! It's not – come on, Mikey, it's not _like_ that..."  
  
" _Bull_ , Gerard. Don't give me that, I know you. You're stuck on him, aren't you?"  
  
Gerard's silence is answer enough. There's a dull thud, maybe a fist against a wall.  
  
"Shit," the speaker bites out, then says in a softer voice, "Why are you doing this to yourself, Gee? What did you think was gonna happen, huh? A picket fence? _Kids?_ You _know_ this is going to end in tears. You _must_ know that."  
  
There's a long, long silence, and then Gerard says, in a wretched, almost inaudibly small voice, "And how."  
  
Frank's heard enough.

 

~

  
  
Gerard seems to be quite himself later when he catches up with Frank, laughing and teasing, but the knot in Frank's stomach doesn't loosen.  
  
  


_**.seven** _  
_September 4th, 1927_

  
It's a bright, breezy day, uncommonly warm for the time of year, and Frank takes a long lunch and leaves the office early. He considers hailing a cab, hesitating on the sidewalk, but the trees are all lit up with blazing leaves and the air tastes like fall. He doesn't want to sit in a cramped car, not today. He walks instead, hands in his pockets, unbuttoned jacket flapping in the wind, and tells himself that the good mood he can feel spreading through him like the liquid warmth of good liquor is purely coincidental.

 

~

  
"Honey?" sing-songs Frank, as he closes his front door behind him. He imagines for a crazy moment that this isn't a secret affair with a nightclub singer, then immediately wishes he hadn't. The thought of that domesticity does something funny and not entirely pleasant to his stomach, and he doesn't probe his own feelings further lest he put his finger on what's bothering him and doesn't like it. Gerard doesn't appear or call back, so Frank shrugs his jacket off and pads upstairs. A quick search of the bedroom yields no results, and he feels the first pang of apprehension.  
  
"Gerard?" he calls, trying to ignore the parade of worst-case scenarios marching behind his eyelids.  
  
Fortunately, he's rewarded with a breathy "In here," coming from the bathroom. He finds Gerard up to his neck in hot water, his head tipped back and his eyes closed, his skin flushed pink and an expression of unadulterated bliss on his face. One smooth, pale leg dangles lazily over the side of the tub and Gerard cracks an eye open, half-smiling.  
  
"You're home early. Just couldn't bear to stay away, huh?"  
  
Frank rolls his eyes, but he can feel himself grinning like a sap. "You know it, doll."  
  
Gerard makes a little contented noise and opens his other eye. "You flatter me, sir," he says dryly, only half-joking, batting his eyelashes as one corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a lopsided smirk. Frank takes a step towards him, and thrills a little at the way Gerard's eyes darken. Frank's hands are shaking slightly as he reaches for the first button on his vest; he can feel Gerard watching him and it's _distracting_. The whisper of the heavy fabric as it slides off his shoulders and pools on the floor around his ankles makes his skin crawl in the most delicious way, and he thinks he's beginning to understand what it is that's got Gerard so hooked on performing. His tie and then his shirt and undershirt follow his vest onto the cool tiles, and then he hesitates, one hand resting on his belt buckle.  
  
"Well?" prompts Gerard, cocking one eyebrow, but Frank is almost sure the pretty flush in his cheeks has darkened.  
  
"You want to?" asks Frank. There's something about the way Gerard is naked and vulnerable while Frank's still half-dressed that makes him want to check.  
  
"First," Gerard retorts, his seductive expression slipping a little until Frank can just about see the traces of his crooked grin, "I think you should finish getting undressed, and _then_ we'll talk about what I want."  
  
Frank's in no mood to argue with that, so he carefully unbuckles his belt, slides it through the loops on his pants and drops it with the rest of his clothes.  
  
  


_**.six**  
August 21st, 1927_

  
"My, my," says Gerard appreciatively, looking Frank up and down. "Don't you look swell, all dolled up to take me out."  
  
Frank chuckles and offers Gerard his hand. The suit he's wearing is the nicest one he owns, charcoal grey and cut to fit him like a second skin. "I got this thing made for my cousin's wedding last fall. You're looking pretty keen yourself."  
  
Gerard is wearing dark blue again, the color bringing out his pale skin and the faint flush in his cheeks. His hair is pinned back to one side, some of it already spilling out of the barrette and falling over his face. Frank's hands itch to push it back, tuck it behind Gerard's ear.  
  
"Thank you, mister," Gerard says complacently, falling into step with Frank and flashing him a sidelong smile.  
  
"No, really. I'm a lucky boy to have a pretty thing like you on my arm," says Frank. For some reason, remembering that wedding is making him feel tense and restless.  
  
"Oh, dry _up_." Gerard bumps his shoulder against Frank's, but his smile has turned shy all of a sudden.  
  
"Right here," Frank says, guiding Gerard into the brightly-lit restaurant on the corner of the street. It's one of his favorites, and a ten dollar bill slipped into the head waiter's hand is enough to charm him into giving them the quiet table tucked into the alcove.  
  
"It must be nice to have dough to throw around like that," Gerard murmurs as Frank pulls his chair out for him.  
  
Frank feels color blossom in his cheeks. "I didn't--" he starts, but Gerard bursts out laughing. His laugh is nothing like the faint, lazily sparkling ones of the girls his parents spent so many years throwing at him. It's rough and scratched like his voice, brazen and uninhibited, and Frank is completely, hopelessly enchanted.  
  
Gerard rolls his eyes and assures Frank that he was joking, and Frank's embarrassment dissolves like sugar in coffee.  
  
  


_**.five**  
August 9th, 1927_

  
"Gerard? What are you doing here?" Frank's not angry, but this is – unexpected. His head is ringing with the dissonance between Gerard-in-heels-and-lipstick and _this_ Gerard, with his hair brushed back and the sleeves of his button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows. Frank stands aside to let him in, but Gerard just stands there on the doorstep, biting his lip.  
  
"I'm here," he says eventually, jamming his hands deeper into his pockets and shifting uneasily from foot to foot. "Because you don't _get_ it, and I – I'm trying to make you see. It's not me you want, because this – I'm this as well, you don't want this. You can't... it's not fair. You can't only have half a person."  
  
Frank hasn't slept or shaved or eaten in three days, has barely thought of anything else, and he doesn't know what he wants anymore. So he doesn't think, just grabs Gerard by the arm and pulls him inside and pushes him up against the wall and starts kissing him greedily almost before the latch has even clicked into place.  
  
"It's not," he says against Gerard's mouth, finding it difficult to take his hands off Gerard for long enough to get himself thinking straight again. "It's not about the, the clothes or the makeup or any of that stuff." he slides his mouth down Gerard's neck, wet and messy, and Gerard exhales unevenly, working one hand into Frank's hair and pulling him closer.  
  
"It's not?" he says, and Frank makes an inarticulate, frustrated noise as he mouths at Gerard's collarbone.  
  
"Of course it's not, you _sap_ ," he says indistinctly, biting down on the soft curve between Gerard's neck and his shoulder as Gerard whines and twists his fingers in Frank's hair. "I _like_ the clothes, sure, you knew that. You're still you, whether you're in them or out of them. Jesus Christ, how much clearer could I make myself?"  
  
"Stop. Frank, _stop_."  
  
Frank pulls back just enough to look directly at Gerard's face. His hair is a mess already, but he's frowning and biting his lip again.  
  
"Frank," he says quietly, "You can't – don't say that unless you mean it."  
  
Frank realizes, belatedly, that this isn't something to brush off or laugh about. It _matters_ to Gerard whether or not Frank's only after the nylon and the lipstick, and the epiphany sends an odd pang of _something_ through him. "But I _do_ ," he insists, settling his hands on Gerard's hips. He licks his lips, hesitates. "I want – I want whatever you'll give me. I want all of you. To myself."  
  
Gerard just stops, completely and utterly. Frank wonders if it was too soon for that, if he's said the wrong thing. He doesn't care, he meant every word.  
  
The stillness doesn't break so much as shatter when Gerard surges forwards. Frank moans into his mouth, and Gerard pulls Frank close and holds on for all he's worth.

 

~

  
Frank fucks him roughly, possessively, kissing his way over every inch of skin he can reach and leaving strings of glowing bruises like jewels. Gerard is _his_. Gerard yields under Frank's hands like his bones have turned to honey, letting Frank mark him and claim him. He goes willingly when Frank pushes him over onto his back, hitches his knees up and fucks him, his face buried in Frank's neck.  
  
Afterwards, Gerard stays. He falls asleep with his arms wrapped tightly around Frank, as if he's afraid of losing him.  
  
  


_**.four**  
August 5th, 1927_

  
"I really ought to leave," mumbles Gerard against Frank's shoulder. Frank makes an inarticulate noise of protest, and wraps his arms tightly around Gerard in the hope that this will convince him to stay. The sheets will need washing, but Gerard is warm and loose-limbed and he feels incredible pressed against Frank.  
  
"It's cold outside," says Frank, marshalling his arguments and holding on tighter for good measure. Gerard chuckles.  
  
"It's August, doll," he says. As much as he would like to, Frank can't actually argue with that. Gerard gently disentangles himself from Frank's arms, laughing, and starts picking his scattered clothing off the floor. Frank sits up to watch him dress, because the clothes work some kind of magic on Gerard, the way he moves and the way he holds himself and the way he smiles, and Frank doesn't think he's ever going to get tired of watching it happen. Having located both stockings, Gerard sits back down on the edge of the bed and begins to roll them on.  
  
Frank's sort of fascinated by the practiced ease with which Gerard negotiates the fastenings on the garter belt. He isn't self-conscious, isn't putting on a show for anyone – every movement efficient but unhurried. It's almost hypnotic. Frank feels oddly grateful to be allowed to see this, the transition between what Gerard is when you strip him of the layers and what he chooses to be. He stands up and picks the corset up off the floor.  
  
"Give me a hand here?" he says, deftly slotting the row of hook-and-eye clasps down the front together and turning to let Frank at the laces. Frank gathers up the ends obligingly, pulling them taut from the top down and the bottom up, trying to keep the pressure even.  
  
"Tighter?" he asks, kissing Gerard's shoulder. Gerard nods, and Frank pulls harder, the sides of the corset drawing in and holding Gerard upright. He's sitting up straighter already, his breathing slow and deliberate.  
  
"Frank," he says softly, as Frank hooks his fingers behind the cord and pulls again. "This isn't – no one's ever..."  
  
He trails off, and Frank inhales sharply. "You never let anyone help you do this before?"  
  
Gerard shakes his head. Frank wonders if it's easier for him to talk like this, with his back to Frank.  
  
"Never," he says. "It's not normally the kind of thing I like to... let people see, I guess."  
  
His eyes meet Frank's in the mirror, and Frank draws a long breath to steady himself. Gerard looks uncertain, maybe even nervous, his eyebrows drawn together and his crooked mouth twisted sideways. His eyes are dark, though, and the heat in them goes to Frank's head like good liquor. Frank ties the laces with unsteady hands, and Gerard murmurs an abstracted _thank you_ , not looking away from the mirror. He stands to retrieve the dress from the far corner of the room, but Frank gets there first and hands it to him. Gerard slips it over his head and tugs at the sides and hem until it falls right, and Frank thinks the whole process is actually just as good to watch when it's running backwards.  
  
"Let me walk you home," he says. It's mostly a selfish offer, he knows, but he wants Gerard to himself for a little longer. And besides, he figures that in the greater scheme of things he shouldn't have done this evening but proceeded to do regardless, this barely even registers.  
  
But the warmth in Gerard's eyes vanishes faster than Frank would have thought possible. "Thank you," he says in an oddly clipped voice, "But I don't need your _protection_."  
  
Frank flounders for a moment, bewildered, then replays it in his head and concedes that that _is_ what it must have sounded like. He opens his mouth to fix his mistake, but the damage is done.  
  
"I thought you _got_ it," Gerard snaps. "Shouldn't have wasted my time. Just because I wear a goddamn dress sometimes doesn't mean I can't take care of myself."  
  
He turns away, reaching for his shoes. Frank reaches out to put a hand on his arm, but Gerard shakes him off, refusing to meet his eyes.  
  
"Hey," says Frank. "Look at me." To his surprise, Gerard does. His chin is tilted up defiantly, mouth pressed into a thin line. "I'm sorry, alright? Honest. I wasn't thinking, I didn't mean it like that. Just thought you might want the company, is all. Don't be mad." The last part slips out accidentally. He sounds pathetic and almost desperate even to his own ears, but Gerard cracks a tiny smile.  
  
"Alright, then," he says. "I won't."  
  
"Good," Frank says quietly, and then, grinning, "Jeez, so this is where trying to do the gentlemanly thing gets you these days, huh?" He shakes his head, mock-ruefully.  
  
Gerard rolls his eyes and he still insists he'll be fine on his own, but he kisses Frank goodnight, hot and lingering, and Frank doesn't think he's still _too_ angry.

  
  
 _****_

_**.three** _  
_July 31st, 1927_

  
Gerard's smile is slow and lazy, reflected in the mirror he's seated in front of as he fixes his hair and smudges kohl around his eyes. "Well, well, well," he says, his voice low and pleased. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"  
  
Frank closes the door behind him and steps into the cluttered dressing room. "Just a social call," he says, but he can't help looking Gerard up and down as he picks up a tube of lipstick and draws it carefully over his bottom lip before pressing his mouth closed to spread the color evenly. The lipstick is a deep, rich red that almost sings against the dark green of his dress. This dress is shorter, more modern-looking, heavily embellished with glinting beads and much less modestly cut, and Frank swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. "Looking good, doll," he says softly, and he doesn't miss the way Gerard shivers. Gerard drops the lipstick back into the mess of tubes and powders on the little table and stands unsteadily, presses a hand to Frank's chest and backs him up against the wall before leaning in for a hot, slow kiss. Frank parts his lips and loses himself in it as one of Gerard's hands comes up to cup his jaw while the other keeps him pinned firmly to the wall. Frank's pretty much made his peace with what that does to him, and he embraces it. When Gerard pulls back, Frank tries to follow him, reaching blindly for more, but Gerard's still holding him in place.  
  
"Later, alright?" Gerard says indistinctly, laughing into Frank's neck. "You're going to ruin me, Frank Iero, I swear. God. But – later. Wait here. I've gotta sing, remember? But I'll come back for you if you've got no place else to be."  
  
"I. That'd – that'd be... yes. Uh, please." Frank stumbles clumsily over the words, wondering what it is about the way Gerard kisses that does this to him. He feels drunk, fried to the hat, and when he catches his reflection in the mirror he looks it, too – eyes dark and unfocussed, cheeks flushed, hair sticking up in all directions. Gerard smiles, quick and bright, wiping the smeared lipstick from the corner of his mouth with his thumb, and then he's gone.  
  
Frank sinks into the chair in front of the mirror. He's halfway ready; he knows he shouldn't enjoy it quite so much when Gerard pushes him around, but he can't help himself. Waiting was never his strong suit, but by a Herculanean effort of will, he forces himself to stay where he is, and just breathe. He's going to be here a while yet.

 

~

 

  
When Gerard returns, his hair is tangled, his skin shines faintly with sweat and the makeup around his eyes is running. One of the straps of the dress is hanging off his shoulder, and if Frank didn't know better he'd say Gerard had been with someone. He looks – well, he looks like a wreck as it is, but all Frank wants is to make a real mess of him, undo him completely. Gerard is grinning, full of the sheer thrill of performing, and as soon as he's locked the door behind him he's on Frank, kissing hard and messy. It's electric. Frank makes a thin, desperate noise, and then Gerard is leaning back against the closed door and pushing down on Frank's shoulders with both hands. Frank fights instinctively for a moment, pushing back, and then it hits him like a bolt between his eyes. He looks questioningly at Gerard, who quirks an eyebrow, and Frank drops obediently to his knees without so much as thinking. It's been a while – a _long_ while – since he's done this, and he takes a second to compose himself. He doesn't want to rush, doesn't want this to be over too soon. Gerard splays his legs obligingly, and Frank trails a finger lightly up the inside of Gerard's ankle, over the swell of his calf, up to the softness of his inner thigh, reveling in the slide of the nylon under his fingertips. He had to wait, he doesn't see why Gerard shouldn't have to do the same.  
  
"Frank," says Gerard in a voice too shaky to be the warning it was meant as. Frank smirks up at him and carries on, running his thumb over the top of Gerard's stocking, soft skin meeting barely-there fabric. He pauses for a moment to slip his thumb under the nylon, exploring the way Gerard's skin yields under the slightest pressure and the way it makes his breath hitch. Frank inches his hand further up, agonizingly slowly, skimming over the taut elastic that he knows runs up to meet a garter belt and stopping just inches from where Gerard wants him to be. Frank exhales slowly, trying to keep himself under control, then adds his other hand, dropping them both down to hook under the hem of Gerard's dress and push it up and out of the way.  
  
Gerard is hard already, the outline of his cock obscene and obvious in the dark silk underwear that makes his skin look even paler. Holding the heavy skirt out of the way with one hand, Frank traces the seam that runs down next to the cut of Gerard's hipbone, and Gerard's hips twitch forward reflexively.  
  
"Please," he says weakly. "Frank – _please_."  
  
"Impatient," chides Frank, but there's no sting in it. He dips his head to mouth at Gerard through the silky fabric, soaking it and making it cling, and the noise Gerard makes is music to Frank's ears. He hooks his fingers under the waistband, intending to tug them down slowly, inch by inch, but that's when he realizes – Gerard is wearing the garter belt _underneath_ the panties again. That's no accident, that's careful forethought with the very deliberate aim of making it easier for Frank to get him out of his underwear this time.  
  
Frank nearly loses it on the spot.  
  
" _Jesus_ , Gerard," he breathes, on a shaky laugh. "You're really something, anyone ever tell you that?" To hell with teasing. He pushes the panties down to Gerard's ankles, unhooking them from his heel when they get caught as Gerard steps out of them. Gerard's cock is flushed and hard, framed by the arc of the garter belt, and the moan he lets out when Frank takes him into his mouth out is wanton and needy. He drops his hands down to cup Frank's head, and Frank takes him deeper before coming back up, flicking his tongue against the slit and making Gerard gasp. It really _has_ been a while since he's done this, mostly because he never enjoyed it much, but this is – different. The weight of Gerard in his mouth, that musky tang blooming on his tongue, the stretch in his jaw and the dull ache in his knees; it's _good_. He's making too much noise, filthy wet sounds every time he pulls off and inarticulate moans every time it strikes him anew just how many reasons there are for them not to be doing this.  
  
He steals a look up at Gerard's face and finds him slack-jawed, hair sticking to his forehead and eyes devouring Frank. Frank's never been looked at like that before, not once in all his ill-advised trysts with people he was paying for and the few he wasn't, and the thought makes his stomach drop. He sinks a little lower, and suddenly Gerard is gasping out a startled apology and spilling his release into Frank's mouth and over his chin. Frank backs off, coughing a little and wiping his mouth and so hard he can't even think straight.  
  
"Here," murmurs Gerard, pulling him upright again and deftly flicking his pants open. Frank feels debauched, disgusting, but Gerard kisses him anyway, deep and sloppy. "You look like you could use a hand with that," Gerard murmurs in Frank's ear, and before Frank can even frame the words to tell him how hopelessly clichéd he is, Gerard's hand is curling around his cock, hot and sure, and Frank completely forgets what he was going to say.  
  
"I'm not," he manages, his hips rocking against Gerard's hand. "Baby, I'm sorry, I'm gonna..."  
  
Gerard shushes him and works his hand harder, faster, and Frank is coming all over the front of Gerard's dress, striping it with white. Frank slumps against Gerard, promising vaguely that he'll pay to get it cleaned, pay for a new one, whatever Gerard wants, _anything_ , and Gerard just laughs and runs his fingers through Frank's hair.  
  
"I never doubted it for a minute, doll," he murmurs, grinning. "What a gentleman. Too good for me, by far."  
  
"Oh, dry up," mumbles Frank, but he's smiling against Gerard's shoulder. He knows he'll be back.  
  
  


_**.two**  
July 27th, 1927_

  
Frank doesn't even try to stop himself going back to the club after that first night. He's counted the days out carefully to make sure Gerard will be there, and every time he thinks about it he remembers the taste of lipstick and the slide of silk under his hands.  
  
He watches Gerard sing from the bar, a glass of liquor slowly filling him with hot, slow warmth. Gerard is _breathtaking_ , dressed in inky blue tonight with the entire room hanging onto his every word. His voice is everything Frank remembers from last time, low and husky like smoke made sound. Frank lets his eyes wander over the line of Gerard's throat, the kohl around his eyes, the suggestion of the way his thighs move under the dress. It's been a long time since Frank's wanted someone like this.

~

  
When Frank catches Gerard after the show and offers him another cigarette, Gerard looks surprised.  
  
"You came back," he says, letting Frank light the smoke for him. "I didn't think you would."  
  
"Oh?" Frank finds, much to his surprise, that he really does want to know why. Gerard is fascinating.  
  
Gerard shrugs nonchalantly, accepting the cigarette and taking a drag. "You're not the first rich boy to come slumming here. They have a few drinks, flirt with someone inappropriate and then go back to their fancy houses and their wives and kids. That's all they want, you know? I don't tend to get too broken up about it anymore."  
  
That bites, cutting into Frank a little. After all, what's special about him? He didn't give Gerard any reason to think he'd be different. "Well," he says, flashing Gerard the smile his mother always said would get him anywhere he wanted to go. "Maybe you should give me another chance to surprise you."

~

  
It's Gerard who surprises _him_. Gerard all but invites himself back to Frank's place, and he's the one to shove Frank up against the wall in the hallway and kiss him hard.  
  
"Bedroom," Gerard says indistinctly against Frank's mouth, his voice low and hot. " _Now_."  
  
Frank manages to scrape what's left of his senses together, grab Gerard by the hand and pull him away up the stairs. Frank's head is spinning; Gerard has thrown him off-balance and left him reeling. Gerard stops him on the landing for another kiss that Frank could get lost in, but he forces himself away from Gerard's hot, wet mouth and stumbles into the bedroom with Gerard on his heels. Gerard doesn't hesitate, sprawling out on the bed and grinning up at Frank with a challenge in the arch of his eyebrows.  
  
"Let's see what you got, then, Frank Iero," he says, and pulls Frank down on top of him. Gerard's hands are hot and strong and _everywhere_ , grabbing at Frank's shoulders, his hair, skimming down over the small of his back and holding him close. He's still kissing like he's got something to prove, the ghost of stubble on his jaw rough against Frank's skin, a low moan escaping him when Frank grinds down against his hips.  
  
Frank, feeling bold, slips one hand under the hem of Gerard's dress, his fingers questing for the panties he's sure must be under there.  
  
"You sure know how to treat a dame," Gerard says, smirking and rolling over to let Frank at the row of tiny buttons running down the back of his dress. Frank lays one hand flat against Gerard's shoulderblades for a long moment, feeling the warmth of Gerard's skin through the satin.  
  
"Rip that and you're paying for it," warns Gerard. Frank starts on the buttons. His hands are shaking and the heat in his belly grows with every inch of skin revealed, shockingly white against the deep blue. It seems to take an age to get the goddamn thing open – little delicate buttons and shaking hands don't mix well – but when he does, Gerard makes an approving noise and wriggles out of the dress, kicking it to the floor. Frank takes a moment to appreciate the new stretch of soft, unmarked skin. Gerard is completely bare but for the panties, the stockings he's still wearing and the garter belt. Frank's breath catches. God, he's beautiful. The panties are black and silky, trimmed with a narrow strip of lace, stretched over the full, gorgeous curve of his ass and bulging heavily where his cock is pressed against the thin fabric. The garter belt digs into the soft flesh of his hips, just a little, and the dark stripes running down his pale thighs are stark and slutty. Gerard doesn't blush or look away, just holds Frank's gaze and lets him look.  
  
Frank can't take it. He ducks down to kiss Gerard again, and Gerard's fingers dip under the waistband of Frank's pants.  
  
"Now, what are we going to do about these, huh?" he murmurs. Frank scrambles to get them off, and Gerard chuckles. "Better," he says.  
  
Frank skins out of the rest of his clothes quickly and gracelessly, knowing Gerard is watching his every move.  
  
Then he hesitates. "Uh," he says. "Do you want--"  
  
Gerard lets out an irritated huff of breath. "I want you to fuck me," he says, looking Frank in the eye. "Hard. Understand? The _last_ thing I want you to do is treat me like a lady."  
  
Frank feels like all the breath has been kicked out of his lungs at once. If that's what Gerard wants, who is Frank to refuse him?  
  
He hauls Gerard up off the bed and shoves him over to the empty desk, working one hand into Gerard's dark hair.  
  
"You gonna bend over for me, huh, doll?" he murmurs. Gerard whimpers and nods frantically, yielding under Frank's hands and letting Frank push his head down. He looks obscenely gorgeous, needy and wanting, the garter straps pulled taut over his ass and his thighs. The panties are an obstacle Frank doesn't have time for; he hooks his fingers into them and pulls them aside. He slips two fingers down into the cleft of Gerard's ass and feels him shiver, then digs his thumb in and spreads Gerard open. Gerard makes a thin, desperate noise, pushing into the touch. This is Gerard with all the layers of artifice stripped away. This is what he _wants_ , and he wants it so badly that he's past caring about how it makes him look.  
  
It's going to Frank's head. Gerard is overwhelming, intoxicating.  
  
Frank dips his head to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the spot where the dark, silky panties cut across the small of his back. Gerard tenses, and Frank feels a slow, dirty grin unfolding across his face. Still holding the panties out of the way with one hand and keeping Gerard spread open with the other, he dips his head and lets his breath ghost over Gerard's hole. Gerard _mewls_ , pleading and pitiful, and Frank lets a thick strand of spit drop from his lips to Gerard's taint. Frank's only done this once before and Gerard's gasp is sharp and shocked, but the full-throated moan that follows it is all the encouragement Frank needs. He ducks lower to lick, to taste. He pushes the tip of his tongue into Gerard, making Gerard choke on a sharp cry, then pulls back to lap at his hole. Frank wants Gerard wet and ready for him. Gerard is mewling and squirming already, but Frank holds him still. He adds a finger alongside his tongue, and Gerard takes it easily. Frank wonders how often Gerard does this, lets near-strangers take him home and use him.  
  
Frank takes one last long look at the sight of Gerard's legs splayed wide, his ass spread open, the panties yanked carelessly to the side and the stockings and garter belt making all that pale skin look obscenely tempting. He isn't going to be forgetting this anytime soon.  
  
He lines himself up, the head of his cock nudging at Gerard's entrance. Gerard is pushing back against him, so unashamed of wanting it.  
  
"I bet you can take it." Frank's voice is rough even to his own ears, and Gerard makes a weak, desperate noise of agreement. It's too much. Frank pushes in and tangles his free hand in Gerard's hair, and Gerard's moan breaks into a cry. Frank gives Gerard's hair a sharp tug and works his fingers out, sliding them into Gerard's mouth as he starts to fuck into him harder. Gerard makes a grateful noise and sucks at Frank's fingers, hot and sloppy. When Frank catches his eye in the mirror hanging over the desk, he looks _desperate_ , flushed and filthy. He moans around Frank's fingers and Frank slides them out again, dragging a messy streak of crimson lipstick across Gerard's cheek. He thrusts in deeper, burying himself inside Gerard, and Gerard's back arches. Frank tugs at the panties. Gerard whines, his hips twitching.  
  
"Good," he says weakly. "Frank, that's--"  
  
Frank pulls at them again, imagining how the silk must feel stretched over Gerard's cock and watching Gerard's face in the mirror. His eyebrows are drawn together, his eyes heavy-lidded and his mouth spit-shiny and open. Frank's eyes drop to where Gerard is stretched around his cock, all pink and used-looking already. Gerard moans, pushing back against him, wanting more.  
  
Frank pushes in until he bottoms out and stays there. Gerard makes a noise just on the edge of a sob, trying to work Frank deeper inside him. Frank swats at his ass, and he gasps.  
  
"Like-- mmm, like that," he manages to grit out. " _Frank_ , I need..."  
  
Frank is losing his rhythm, fucking Gerard hard and fast. He's so, _so_ close. He pulls the panties taut over Gerard's straining cock and Gerard clenches around him with another bitten-off gasp. It's just so _much_ , and Frank drives in one more time and comes hard, deep inside Gerard.  
  
He pulls out as soon as he can see straight again, holding Gerard open and watching his own come starting to drip down Gerard's thighs. Gerard's skin is pink and flushed all over, interrupted only by the garter straps still stretching down to meet the stockings. He looks filthy, slick and used and wide open.  
  
Frank tugs the panties back into place over Gerard's ass. He wants to see them ruined. He pushes at Gerard's shoulder. "C'mon, sugar, turn around for me," he says, hooking his finger into one of the straps and letting it snap back against Gerard's soft thigh.  
  
Gerard's breath hitches, and he straightens up unsteadily and turns to face Frank. His hair is tangled and the makeup around his eyes is smeared beyond repair, and the panties are clinging obscenely to his cock. Frank has to stop and just _look_ at him for a long moment, standing there as bold as brass with lipstick smeared across his cheek and Frank's come plastering the panties to the curves of his ass.  
  
Gerard runs two fingers along the sparse trail of dark hair leading down into the panties, palming the hard, obvious line of his cock through the silk as Frank watches.  
  
"C'mon," Frank says softly. "I want to see you rub yourself off through those pretty panties."  
  
Gerard groans. He looks gorgeous, debauched, rutting against his own hand like some desperate slut. Frank takes a step towards him, reaching around to run one hand down his back and over the come-soaked silk plastered to his ass. Gerard's eyes get big and wide, his pupils blown, and his hips stutter forwards.  
  
"You gonna come for me, sugar?" Frank says, and Gerard moans and bucks into his hand one last time. They slump against each other, sticky and spent, just breathing. Frank pulls back a little after a long moment, unable to resist the temptation to look. Gerard's panties are ruined, and there's more of Frank's come between his thighs. Frank leans back in for a messy, open mouthed kiss that Gerard returns almost lazily, his tongue hot against Frank's.  
  
"Beautiful," Frank mumbles against Gerard's mouth, meaning it even though he knows he sounds like a sap.  
  
One corner of Gerard's mouth quirks up. "You're too sweet, doll."  
  
"I mean it. You want to stay here tonight?"  
  
"Really?" Gerard looks at him suspiciously, as if he's trying to decide whether or not Frank can possibly be serious.  
  
"Really really. What do you say?"  
  
Gerard smiles, but shakes his head. "You're very kind to offer, but no. I should be getting home." He bends down to pick his dress up off the floor, taking it too fast and inhaling sharply at what Frank realizes must be the soreness.  
  
"Wait," Frank says. "You're not going to walk home in those panties, right?"  
  
Gerard throws him a wry smile just before he pulls the dress over his head. "Well, I didn't bring any spares," he says, and Frank is momentarily struck dumb by the idea of Gerard feeling the come drying between his legs with every step – or just walking out, still wet and ready to be fucked, with nothing but that garter belt under his dress.  
  
Gerard chuckles at the look on Frank's face as he steps back into his shoes. "Help me with the buttons and maybe I'll wear a different pair for you next time."  
  
  


_**.one**  
July 21st, 1927_

  
"You're allowed to smoke inside, you know, doll."  
  
The voice is throaty, amused, warm and rich in the darkness, and Frank doesn't have to look over his shoulder to know who it is. He turns anyway, shrugs, and tries not to stare at the half-shadowed figure and the way the light plays over sharp, feminine features and smooth, old-fashioned curves of burgundy satin.  
  
"I know," he says. "Just wanted some air, is all."  
  
The singer laughs, low and soft, and Frank realizes guiltily that he doesn't even know the man's name; his mother would be more appalled by his manners than by where he is and who he's talking to. "No, I hear you," says the man. He steps out of the shadows, coming to stand next to Frank, and Frank finds himself trying not to stare again. This close up, the illusion isn't perfect – Frank notices the tiny patch of stubble on the underside of the guy's jaw that he must have missed the last time he shaved, the hard, masculine lines of his arms and hands, the fingernails unpainted and bitten down to the quick.  
  
Somehow, none of these things quite manages to make him any less of a pretty picture. There's something about that perfect balance of contradictions, something that's tugging at Frank's curiosity like a hundred little fish hooks.  
  
"Frank," he blurts, holding his hand out. He's not sure of the etiquette for a situation like this, or indeed if there is any – do you shake hands? He has no idea, but he doesn't think you can go far wrong with a good, solid handshake. "Frank Iero. Nice to meet you."  
  
The man looks a little wrong-footed, but he takes Frank's hand in a strong grip and smiles a warmer, truer smile than the one he wore while he was singing. "Gerard Way," he says, and then his smile turns wry and self-deprecating. "Gina on alternate Thursdays."  
  
Frank's laugh is too abrupt, awkward and startled out of him, but Gerard matches him with an equally undignified snort at Frank's obvious embarrassment. Some of the tension that Frank only notices in its absence melts away into the night.  
  
"So, Frank Iero," says Gerard, cutting his eyes at Frank, "You think you could spare a cig for a poor dame who's down on her luck?"  
  
He isn't deliberately pitching his voice up like he was earlier, and Frank is momentarily fascinated by the brash strangeness of the word dame in such an incongruously low register.  
  
"Oh! Sure, sure thing," he says, when he realizes Gerard is still looking at him expectantly. "Here."  
  
"Much obliged," says Gerard archly, as Frank produces a cigarette from the case in the inner pocket of his vest and strikes a match to light it for him before he hands it over. Gerard is pale, and the gold light brushes against his cheekbones, his nose, his lips, the arches of his eyebrows as he takes a long, greedy drag, and exhales pale smoke into the dark. Gerard hums contentedly and leans back against the rough brick wall, gesturing lazily for Frank to do the same – which he does, almost without even thinking. Frank lights another cigarette of his own, just so he's got an excuse to stay out here a little longer. They smoke in companiable silence, looking up at the narrow slice of bruised sky visible between the overhanging roof slates.  
  
"I needed that," says Gerard, a few minutes later, dropping the cigarette butt and grinding it under his foot, and Frank catches a glimpse of a black leather heel and a stockinged ankle before he wrenches his gaze away. He can feel his cheeks reddening and he's struck by the sudden impulse to apologize, to tell Gerard that he isn't normally like this, that he can normally control himself, honest. It's only by forcibly reminding himself that doing so would only serve to convince Gerard of the opposite that he manages to keep his mouth closed.  
  
When he next risks a glance at Gerard, Gerard is looking at him with an intent expression that Frank can't quite decipher. Gerard shifts a little closer, close enough that Frank can feel the heat rolling off his skin. Gerard leans in until his mouth is a breath away from Frank's ear, and Frank is completely, perfectly still.  
  
"Cash or check?" Gerard whispers, and Frank swallows. He hears the question for what it really is – _do we kiss now, or later?_ – but there's a third option too, one that goes something like _get away from me, what the hell do you take me for?_ , and that's where the uncertainty is curling into Gerard's voice.  
  
"Cash," murmurs Frank, because, hell, why not? He leans in to press their mouths together. Gerard's lips are chapped and Frank can taste the smeared remains of his lipstick, sweet and waxy. Gerard isn't the first man Frank's kissed, but Frank's still taken aback by the sheer force of it, by the sharp scrape of Gerard's teeth over his lip and Gerard's warm hands slipping around Frank's waist and into his hair. Frank kisses back, hard, with none of the care and restraint he'd exercise with a girl. Gerard makes a low, hungry noise and presses closer, pulling Frank in, and Frank's world narrows down to two certainties: that what they're doing is probably disgusting, reprehensible and highly inappropriate, and that it feels _fantastic_. The kiss is lighting him up, slowly filling him with heat. Gerard pushes Frank backwards, and Frank feels the bricks against his shoulders. Necking with a queen in a dirty alley isn't what he'd been expecting of tonight, but it's _good_ , it's so damn good, and before he even knows what he's doing he's sliding his thigh between Gerard's, the fabric of Gerard's dress sliding easily against Frank's dress slacks.  
  
Then Gerard pulls away, his lips slick and kiss-swollen.  
  
"Uh uh. Just what kind of a girl do you think I am, sir?" the indignation in his voice is false, and he's grinning. Frank feels almost dizzy. Nothing makes sense tonight.  
  
"Maybe – another night?" Frank manages. He's having trouble stringing the words together. Gerard chuckles, and rubs his callused thumb over Frank's cheekbone.  
  
"Persistent, aren't you, Frank Iero? You're cute. But – yes. I'd like that."  
  
This is ridiculous, it'll never last. Frank doesn't care.


End file.
